


Fragile

by Self_Indulgent_TMNT



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: F/M, Fix-it (eventually), Main character is Sheogorath before main quest, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26411992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Self_Indulgent_TMNT/pseuds/Self_Indulgent_TMNT
Summary: So fragile, so easily broken, so easily shattered. This mortal realm.Sheogorath, once upon a time an Imperial named Emelira Hodentius, has returned to the mortal realm for a spot of diversion. And ended up locked in the Imperial prison.But that's just the beginning of the story. There's a world to be saved, and a priest to fall in love with.In which Sheogorath recalls what mortality feels like, and saves the world along the way.
Relationships: Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42





	1. Bars

So fragile, so easily broken, so easily shattered. These mortal bars. Pathetic. Foolish. Sheogorath stood in their cell, laughing at the feeble attempts to contain them. If only the mortals knew just who it was they kept locked away in their little dungeon. Locked away for who even knew what. Sheogorath couldn’t be certain they hadn’t done whatever it was they were told they had. Their brain was still so busy, so confused, still getting used to being back in this world instead of their own. They had not yet adapted to being back, were still allowing themself to act and think like a god.

Clearly, it had landed them in trouble. Not that it mattered. There was no dungeon could hold the god for long. This was merely a diversion, a tourist attraction on this whistle-stop tour of mortality. An amusement as they desperately searched for how it had once felt to be alive.  
Sheogorath sighed, resting their face against the bars of the cell door. A shiver ran through their body. They were cold. A single laugh bubbled out of their chest, empty and vicious. How dare these people apprehend a god? They would pay. Yes, they had planned on visiting prison at some point on this holiday, but not in their first week of being back on mortal ground. They had still been taking it all in, literally and figuratively smelling the roses, when they’d been dragged off to prison.  
When asked for a name they were surprised when it wasn’t ‘Sheogorath’ but something completely different which tumbled from their lips. The name felt familiar, it stirred a memory. Something about it felt comforting, homely. As though it had once belonged to them.

Emelira Hodentius. She had been the woman who lived in this body once. Beaten down by a lifetime of hardships she had learnt to fight, to survive. She had ceased to care. That was why she had entered through the door when all signs said she shouldn’t. The guard desperately begged her not to, the mad adventurers tumbling back through told her more of the other side than any normal person would ever wish to know. She had plunged in and not looked back. In no time at all she became they, taking on the mantle of Sheogorath.  
The name that had tumbled from Sheogorath’s lips when they had been asked for one hadn’t been uttered in years. Perhaps the old adventurer was still in there, somewhere. Perhaps she was the only thing stopping the Mad God from tipping all of the way into insanity. Perhaps she was what had called them back here, to the mortal realm. She was a part of their soul they wanted to remember.  
Sheogorath laughed louder now. This cell was getting to them. That was the single most coherent thought they’d had in a very long time, and yet it made less sense than any of the gibberish.  
Across the passageway, in the opposite cell, a dark elf jeered. It was a waste of breath. Sheogorath wouldn’t die here, they wouldn’t die anywhere. This was just a stop off, just a novelty. An amusement on their holiday from their throne.

Voices, quiet now but getting louder. Multiple people. Not coming for them as the dunmer said, no, these people had greater purpose to their walk. And an emperor in their midst.  
“What’s this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!”  
“U-usual mix up at the watch. I…”  
“Never mind, get that gate open” The woman, clearly the one in charge, barked. The door swung open and Sheogorath staggered backwards, cowering in the corner like the mere mortal woman they appeared to be. This was a fun game.  
“Stand back prisoner. We won’t hesitate to kill you if you get in our way”  
Sheogorath bit back a laugh. They were enjoying playing this role, lowing their eyes and pretending to be compliant.  
The old man walked into the cell. He was steady on his feet, composed and standing tall despite the circumstances. It was impossible not to stare. He stared back.  
“You… I’ve seen you… Let me see your face”  
Emperor Uriel Septim gazed at the face of Emelira Hodentius and saw his own death. A god stared out of the woman’s eyes and saw a whole lot more than that. All questions and purpose seemed to fall away. The reason for their incarceration was irrelevant, their plans beyond this cell disintegrated. Emperor Uriel Septim and the god that used to be Emelira Hodentius stared into each other’s eyes and both saw fate staring back at them.  
This. This was why the new Sheogorath had been called back to the land of their birth. Many years ago fate had made this appointment and nothing would stand in its way. There was a world to be saved and this was its hero. Stripped of immortal powers when in the mortal realm, they seemed an unlikely champion, but there was more at play here than the whims of gods.  
Uriel Septim spoke in riddles and Emelira’s mind was clearer than it had been in a very long time.

And then the wall to their cell opened and a dark passageway stretched ahead. The emperor and his guards disappeared inside. Emelira watched them go. She took a breath, rolled her shoulders back, and smiled. The dark loomed.  
This sounded like it might be fun.


	2. Cities

So fragile, so easily broken, so easily shattered. These mortal cities. Kvatch had once stood tall and proud, a bustling city full of people busily living their lives. Not unlike Emelira’s own New Sheoth. Very much unlike New Sheoth, however, Kvatch now stood in ruins. Endless fires burnt bright despite the rain, in the wreckage of people’s lives. Dust and grime covered every surface. The dead and deranged were all that remained of its people. Perhaps not so unlike New Sheoth after all.  
Emelira blinked in the darkness after the blinding light of the Oblivion gate. They’d been interested to visit the other realm, to find out what existed beyond the wall of fire, but what they’d found had been distasteful even to the god of madness. She ran a hand across her face, smearing blood and grime across already filthy skin. She spat on the ground, a futile attempt to rid herself of the taste of hell that lingered on her tongue. Rain flattened her hair, making her ponytail stick to the fragment of exposed neck that showed above her armour. A trail of water trickled down her spine. She shivered.  
She had just returned from hell, closing its entrance to this world. And yet she found more hell waiting.  
Sheogorath longed for their home. The beauty of the Shivering Isles. The quiet, wilting elegance of Dementia and the loud, proud, colourful life of Mania. Their heart called out to return, to walk among their monsters and feel secure. But the part of them that was still Emelira could not. She had to stay, to fight. There was something here worth protecting.  
When they asked if she would help she agreed without hesitation, fingers tightly gripping her bloodstained sword.

Inside Kvatch was no better than outside. The horror was over, this was the aftermath. Creatures skulked in the rubble, ready to attack any who dared make a break for freedom.  
There was no coming back from this. Kvatch was ended. Emelira watched the remnants of its people flee the chapel, terrified, with only what they carried to remind them of their lives. But one person stood out. He was as filthy and broken as the rest of them, cowed and afraid. But he was different, too. Martin. He was why she had come. He didn’t know it yet, but all of this destruction had been for him. Emelira grimaced, thinking of what she must do. This was a man whose world had been shattered already. Everything he knew had gone up in smoke. And yet she must take the fragments he had left and turn them back to front, upside down, and toss them out a window.  
“Are you ready? We still have work to do” Savlian Matius jolted her from her thoughts. Martin the Priest disappeared from view, one of a horribly short line of survivors.  
Yes, she must destroy all he still knew.  
But not yet. Not this second.  
She adjusted her quiver and bow on her back, wiping her sword blade on a rag, and nodded.  
“Let’s go”

Even the tunnels beneath Kvatch were on fire. She weaved through it, guiding the brave souls who had followed her into this hell. How had the destruction made it this deep? And, more incredibly, how had anyone survived? How had Martin? They were here for him, had burned the city to the ground in search of him. And yet somehow he had not yet died. He hadn’t just survived, but he’d led others to safety.

“Are you Martin? The priest?”  
The man before her seemed haunted. Gazing around himself in a state of loss.  
“Yes, I am the priest. Do you need a priest? I’m not sure I can help you. I’m having trouble understanding the gods myself right now. If all this is part of some divine plan, I’m not sure I want any part of it.”  
Emelira couldn’t blame him. What she’d seen had been enough to shake even her own faith in the plans of gods, and she’d made plenty herself. “Gods or not, I was sent here for you”  
“For me? What for? I heard what you did today, how you closed the gate, helped to drive the daedra back. There is no doubt that you are a hero, and I wish I knew how to thank you, but I’m finding it difficult to feel thankful right now. So much death and destruction. What cause could they possibly have?”  
The hero took a deep breath. She had to tell him, to somehow make him understand the truth. There would be no going back after this.  
“They came here for you”  
His eyes went wide. “Me? You must be crazier than you look. Why would they come here for me?”  
Emelira bit back a wry smile. Crazier than she looked? The truth was, she didn’t think she’d ever felt as sane as she did now. This crisis, and whatever her role within it was becoming, was the only thing that had made sense to her in a very long time.  
“You are Uriel Septim’s son”  
“Uriel Septim? Emperor Uriel Septim? Now I know you’re mad. My father was a farmer”  
“I’m not mad, I’m telling the truth. The emperor was your father”  
Martin blinked, trying very hard not to believe the woman in front of him. Her face was smattered with dirt and blood and ash. He had no idea what hell she had been through that night. It would be of no surprise if the experience had driven her from reason.  
“Why would I lie to you, Martin? Of all the sick and twisted jokes I could have played, why would anyone choose this? It’s true. I swear it. The head of the emperor’s bodyguards sent me here for you. He was the one who left you here. Please, come with me to Weynon Priory. He can explain it all there”  
Martin so desperately wanted not to believe her. But he couldn’t quite manage it. “As crazy as you sound, I do believe you. After everything that has happened here this past day, that seems the only thing which might make sense.”  
“Really? You believe me?”  
“Easy there. If you sound too surprised I might change my mind”  
Emelira smiled. She liked this priest. Far more than she liked those who worshipped her, anyway.  
“So you’ll come with me?”  
Martin looked around him at the remnants of his city, of his life. “You did a lot for these people. I think you’ve earned a little trust. Yes, I’ll come with you to Weynon. Lead the way”


	3. Plans

So fragile, so easily broken, so easily shattered. These mortal plans.  
It had been so simple. She would find the heir and bring him to Weynon, where Jauffre would keep the amulet safe until it could be placed around Martin’s neck and he could relight the dragon fires.  
It had seemed so easy this morning as she and Martin had walked together. They had slept a few hours at the Kvatch camp. Emelira had cleaned the evidence of her trials from her skin, revealing what remained of hastily healed wounds beneath. She tried to hide them as she peeled away layers of armour and clothes, but she couldn’t keep back the hiss of her breath as she exposed tender skin. Martin had said nothing beyond a tongue click, moving in to wordlessly work his magic. He carefully soothed her wounds, pushing the pain away and leaving clean skin behind. They wouldn’t even scar.  
She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to help.  
The priest read the discomfort in her eyes. “You don’t need to thank me. I may no longer have a temple, but helping people is still my job”  
She said nothing to that, just offered an uneasy smile as she tested her joints, surprised to find them completely healed. “You’re good”  
He just nodded and turned back to packing the few belongings he had left.

Come the sunrise they were both more than ready to go. Sleep hadn’t come easily and they’d both been awake some time.  
They’d taken to the road in silence. They both had a lot to think about. Martin had an entire lifetime to revaluate, and Emelira had a lot to plan. Was she really going to do this? Was she actually going to get involved in the problems of mortals?  
She chanced a glance to her side where Martin walked. His brow was furrowed, his eyes set straight ahead. This man, this dusty, tired priest, was the next ruler of all he could see and more. He had no preparation for the role, had not been educated and carefully trained from birth. His reign would surely be a thing to witness, something this world had never seen before.  
Perhaps she wouldn’t get involved in grand mortal struggles, but she was already involved with this particular mortal’s journey. She felt bound to him, in a strange way. After what she’d already done for him. All of the horrors she’d seen the day before had been shouldered with the singular aim of keeping him safe. She’d felt such overwhelming relief when she found him safe, but also when she knew she was safe, too. And now that it was over she couldn’t disentangle everything she’d felt. The fear, the horror, the relief; it was all mixed up with Martin.

“So, you’re a priest?”  
She shattered the companionable silence between them.  
“What?” Martin seemed to have been jolted rather hard from his thoughts.  
“I was just inquiring after your profession”  
“Oh,” he blinked, bringing himself fully into the moment, “yes, I’m a priest. Or I was, before…”  
“But your parents were farmers?”  
“Yes. Why are you interested?”  
“I just thought it might be a good idea to get to know the man I’d just risked everything to save”  
She offered a smile, a meagre attempt to dispel the strange tone the conversation seemed to have. He didn’t smile back, but he didn’t seem offended.  
“I suppose I could understand that. In all honesty, I’m more than a little confused about who I am right now.”  
“I can’t blame you for that”  
They were silent again for a moment, before she forged onwards.  
“So why did you decide to become a priest?”  
“I wanted to help people,” he laughed a little, “I felt so very secure in my life. I was lucky. I always had food, shelter, people who loved me. I wanted to give some of that back”  
“A noble cause”  
“Yes, but founded on a falsehood, it would seem. My life was never quite so simple, was it?”  
“Is anyone’s?”  
“That sort of talk suggests you’re familiar with complex lives”  
Emelira turned her head to scan the treeline and hide a wry smile. “My path winds a little more than most”  
“Come on. You know my past, what there is to tell of it. Shouldn’t I at least know a bit of yours?”  
“It won’t do either of us any good”  
“Emelira. Please. I want to know who saved me”  
“I saved you”  
“What are you trying to hide?”  
“A great many things, I assure you”  
Martin wanted to say more, but he held his tongue. He had made a decision to trust Emelira on this matter, but that didn’t mean he trusted her entirely. She bristled with weapons and secrets.  
The travellers continued, silence a little more tense than before.  
“I grew up in a tiny village. A handful of families. It was on the edge of being nowhere at all.”  
Martin kept quiet, letting her talk.  
“There was nothing there, nothing at all, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t know any different. I might even have been happy. Then my parents died. Sickness”  
“I’m sorry”  
Emelira shook her head. “Why? It was a long time ago. I barely even remember. All I really know is that I left, and that was probably a very bad idea”  
“Why?”  
“Parentless children have to learn to survive. Perhaps in that village I would have been better off. They knew me there, may have had some pity. But on the road and in cities it’s not like that. You live or you don’t. That’s what I’ve been doing ever since”  
Martin didn’t know how to approach what he’d been told. He sensed that maybe that wasn’t anywhere near the whole of it, but also that he wasn’t going to get anymore. Or want anymore.  
“That’s enough of me. We’re here” his companion said as they rounded a bend and found themselves faced with a quaint priory.  
Or what would have been a quaint priory, if there weren’t dead bodies strewn on the ground and armoured creatures chasing everything that moved.

“Where do we go, then?” Emelira asked, eyes constantly scanning the interior of Weynon in case they’d missed someone.  
Jauffre sheathed his sword as he exited the secret room where the amulet of kings had once been stored. “We go to Cloud Ruler Temple. It is an ancient Blaydes fortress, the heir will be safe there”  
“I’m stood right here you know” the ‘heir’ in question muttered. Emelira smiled.  
“You are, I’m sorry. I wish I could offer an explanation but unfortunately I don’t have one. We have to get you somewhere safe. This temple Jauffre mentioned might be the only place you can be protected.”  
“This is a nightmare.” Martin dragged a hand over his face, the one that wasn’t still clutching his sword with white fingers. He had acquitted himself well in the unexpected fight, but he wasn’t used to this. Emelira sheathed her own sword and took his hand, gently peeling his fingers off the handle.  
“I’ll make sure you get there safe. I swear it” she said, holding his gaze.  
He merely nodded once in response.

It was almost nightfall when they reached Cloud Ruler, and none of them were really in the mood for a grand entrance. But that was what they got. Martin was welcomed as an emperor, and he gave the best speech he could. It was impressive, especially coming from one who’d had barely any sleep in the past three days and had never given a speech in his life.  
He kept looking back to Emelira, trying to catch some gleam of reassurance from her gaze.  
All the plans they’d had were dead and gone and what stretched ahead was a long list of impossibilities. But she would protect him, that she knew.


	4. Body

So fragile, so easily broken, so easily shattered. This mortal body.  
Sheogorath had no concept of pain. At least, not in their own realm. But here, in this mortal body, Emelira Hodentius remembered pain very well. It had been her life for a long time, as long as she could remember before the madness. She’d been forged in pain, from her childhood onward.  
But she’d never known pain like this.  
Confidence and arrogance had carried her this far on her quest. An unwavering belief that she would not, could not be felled by whatever this world threw her way.  
Then she’d met the king of Miscarcand.

She’d known it was too easy when the goblins and zombies roaming the ruins had happily killed each other off for her. For somewhere so widely feared it was almost as easy as just sauntering in and claiming the Great Welkynd stone for herself.  
The bastard had attacked her from behind. In a moment of smug victory she’d lowered her guard, forgotten where she was. The shock blast sent her sprawling to the ground, barely holding onto her prize. Still sparking, she’d scrambled to draw her sword.  
A blow from one of his guards drew the first blood. And the second.  
Scrambling backwards on the floor she’d fumbled to grab any of her weapons, but found her fingers numb from the shock blasts that kept coming.  
Fire sprang from her own fingers. Huge balls of flame enveloped the approaching undead. If anything, they seemed to grow stronger.  
She’d run, something neither Sheogorath nor Emelira before them had ever done. But the bloody king and his guards had followed.  
Eventually she’d stopped sparking and had managed to take out the guards, but the king wouldn’t take the hint. She’d lost count of the wounds on her body. A trail of blood followed behind her, a testament to arrogance. But still he followed. Weakened, perhaps, but relentless.  
Healing spells, healing potions, wilted plants at the bottom of her bag. Emelira kept herself alive, shaky hands fiddling with lockpicks as she tried to escape the damn room while whittling away at the lich’s health. She wasn’t afraid, she’d passed that long ago. She was desperate. She had to succeed. The world depended on it. Martin depended on it.

She couldn’t rest. She wanted to, wanted to curl up and let the sunlight sink into her skin. But she’d been too long already. She just wanted to get back.  
She’d barely had the strength to clamber onto her horse.

The gates of Cloud Ruler Temple were the most welcome sight Emelira had ever seen. They were also too far.  
She’d travelled so far, clinging tightly to both her horse and consciousness. The road had been dangerous, and fights that she could normally end with one blow seemed to take all of her strength. She had given everything she had and more. The mountain towered above her. She didn’t have enough strength to make it.  
Her horse walked on, making its way up the familiar track to the fortress, but its rider was fading fast. Her vision was blurred and darkened, and all the strength she had wasn’t enough to keep her clinging to the saddle. She swayed one way, then hauled herself upright only to slide down the other side. The ground met her without mercy, jangling her already broken body. The ground was cold, frozen. It provided some small relief to the burning fever that had taken hold of her.

This was no bad place to die, she thought. The ground was hard but she didn’t care. She had nothing left to give.

“Don’t move”  
It was Martin’s voice, firm but not unkind. He’d sensed Emelira beginning to wake before she was even aware of it herself.  
Something that was almost words fell from her lips, but her voice was weak. She struggled to open her eyes.  
“Shhh, relax. You’ll be alright. I’ve got you”   
“Martin?”  
Her eyes finally opened. She recognised the room she was in, but she wasn’t sure why. Her brain was struggling to catch up with what was happening to her. She was lying in a bed, with Martin sat on the edge of it. His hands were gently probing her, dragging the agony from her body with soothing magic.  
“Yes, it’s me. I’m here. You’re safe.” His words soothed her almost as much as his magic.  
“Safe.” She was barely aware of herself as she repeated that single, blessed word. She didn’t think she’d been really safe in a very long time. But here, with Martin’s fingers dancing gently across her skin, tying together her broken body, she felt the truth of the word.  
She struggled to piece together the events of the past days, clutching at brief snatches of memory.  
“How did I get here?”  
“You collapsed from your horse at the bottom of the path to the temple. You were seen by those on watch, who ran to your aid. How you managed to make it that far in your state I can only guess at. I’m certain anyone else would have died long before they made it back to us. You’ve been unconscious for two days.”  
“Days!” Had she been in a better state, Emelira would have shot upwards in alarm. As it was, she made it mere inches before her strength failed and she crashed back onto the pillows of what she now realised was Martin’s bed.  
“I told you not to move” Martin chided, his hands instinctively holding her down. Once it was clear she wasn’t going to try again, he relented, and instead brushed away the hair that had fallen across her face. The blue glow reappeared at his fingertips and blissful nothingness began to push away more of the ever-present pain.  
“How do you feel?” Martin asked, his voice low and full of empathy.  
“Numb”  
“Numb is good. You’re in a terrible state, my dear”  
Emelira’s thoughts struggled to line up as she raked through her memory for where she’d been. She struggled to remember. “I.. I don’t know why”  
“It will return. You’re still feverish and weak. Once you’re well again your memory will clear. You should rest.”  
Through the fog in her brain, one thought cut through. Duty.  
“I brought the stone” she murmured, barely conscious of doing so.  
“It can wait a short while. Rest.”  
“I’ve already rested too long” she whispered, but her eyelids were heavy.  
One of his hands left its position on her side where it was knitting together broken flesh and bone. Martin cupped her cheek. “You deserve months to recover. You’ve done so much already; you should be allowed the rest of your life to be safe and loved. Allow yourself a few days, at least. Allow me to keep you safe for now. Rest”  
It had been so long since anyone had cared for her. The hand on her cheek tugged at her heart, reminding her of a time, long since lost, when she was loved.


	5. Façade

So fragile, so easily broken, so easily shattered. This damn façade.

So carefully constructed over lifetimes, yet so easily torn down.

As a weak dawn broke through grey clouds, basking Cloud Ruler in a shaky light, Martin emerged from his patient’s bedside for the first time since her return to the fortress. He looked visibly drained as he dropped himself into a chair by the fire. Jauffre, who sat in an identical seat mere feet away, poured the young emperor a hot drink from the pot recently removed from the flames.

“How fares your patient?”

“She is sleeping soundly, thank the gods. Her fever broke during the night.”

“So she will make a full recovery?”

“She will. I’d feel more comfortable if she took a few days, at least, to rest and recover. I very much doubt that will happen, though”

Jauffre nodded. “Yes, she does seem hell-bent on achieving her goals. Do you know the next item needed?”

The silence that followed his question was all the answer Jauffre needed.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know yet. I need more time to research”

Martin hadn’t even tried to conceal the lie, locking a pleading gaze with Jauffre. The older man understood. Martin would give Emelira her rest even if it meant lying to her.

“She is lucky to have a friend like you, Martin”

“We are lucky to have her”

Well, there would be no one trying to deny that. “We are indeed. She really is something, and I wish I knew what drives her, provides her with such strength”

There was a moment in which all that could be heard was the crackling fire and the wind swirling outside.

“It’s pain” Martin said, at length.

“Pardon?”

“The thing that drives her. Nothing else could produce so much strength, so much kindness. And I saw the gates at Kvatch, I saw what came out of them. It sickens me to imagine what lay beyond. Only one kind of person could have plunged headfirst into hell and come out of it unchanged”

“What kind of person is that?”

“Someone who knows that whatever lies before them can’t be worse than what they’ve already seen”

There was no conceivable reply to such a statement, so incontrovertibly true yet also bristling with implications. Implications which dared not put themselves into words. Only one question remained, echoing through Jauffre’s thoughts: what kind of hells had Emelira already seen?

But Jauffre knew something Martin did not, something which might provide the younger man with some clarity.

“She came to me from a prison”

“What?”

“Yes. She was a prisoner before she knew any of us. Her cell happened to be the entrance to the emperor’s escape route. She held him as he died and then she had her freedom.”

“She never mentioned that”

“That’s hardly surprising, is it”

“What was she in prison for?”

“I do not know. She has never said, and I find it unlikely she ever will.”

Martin had nothing to say. A sick knot twisted in his stomach. A prisoner? The woman he had trusted so implicitly, the woman who had saved him and so many others. The very same he had just spent days dragging back from the edge of death. A prisoner…

Another hell she had crawled through. But how many of her ordeals had been of her own making?

“Your father trusted her.” Jauffre interrupted Martin’s thoughts.

“Uriel Septim didn’t know her”

Jauffre allowed the blatant refusal from Martin to call the emperor his father with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. “And yet he trusted her. Perhaps it was luck which placed her in the very cell he needed to escape through. Or perhaps it was fate, or even the gods themselves playing with us, moving people like pieces on a board.”

“I wish you wouldn’t speak in riddles”

“What I’m saying, Martin, is that it just so happened that the only person your father helped escape was the exact person we need in this crisis. Can you imagine anyone else doing what she has done?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. But what exactly is your point in all of this?”

“She could have been an adventurer who wanted to help people. Or she could have been a knight sent to aid us. But she is neither. She is a criminal, and simultaneously the most extraordinary person I have ever met. I think there is a great deal more to Emelira Hodentius than she would have us believe. It almost scares me, knowing just how little we can ever comprehend her capabilities”

In this, at least, Martin felt secure. “It doesn’t me”

“No?”

“No. I trust her, despite the secrets.”

Jauffre said nothing, but his expression remained somewhat unconvinced. Martin smiled.

“Emelira is a lot of things, but I think, most of all, she is just a person. Whatever powers she has, whatever her destiny, she bleeds like the rest of us and she feels like the rest of us. She will do everything she can to win this fight with us.” Martin paused and shook his head, that didn’t feel quite right. “No, for us. She is our champion, and while we hide away she is fighting our war. The least we can give her is our trust”

It was then that Jauffre perceived something he didn’t think had been there before. Martin looked more alive in that moment, more confident and certain, than he had since Jauffre had met him. “You do not plan to give her just that, do you?”

Their eyes met, a silent conversation coinciding with their audible one.

“No, I think she deserves a lot more than that”

For the first time in days, when Emelira woke up she was alone.

The room came into focus around her as soon as she opened her eyes. Her mouth was dry, her throat scratchy, but her thoughts felt clear and her body showed no signs of injury. A quick glance around her located a cup and a jug by her bedside. Sitting upright, Emelira grabbed at them, downing one cup before pouring another and sipping at it. She sat, taking in the feeling of not being in pain, breathing in slow, deep lungs of air. She tried to pull herself back together, to slip back into the calm arrogance of divinity.

She found she could not.

It felt impossible to ignore how close she had come to death, something she had craved in the past but now found an appalling concept. Gods did not die, Sheogorath could not die. Emelira could, and the more she dwelled on that the more she found it impossible to be the god again.

The door to the room slid open and Martin stepped in. He started a little when he saw her sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Emelira! You’re up!”

She ran a hand through her hair, balking at the greasy tangle she felt beneath her fingers. She needed a wash.

“Something close to it, anyway.”

Martin had crossed the room now, placing a hand on her forehead without asking. He was in healer mode and would not be denied. “Your fever broke during the night. It seems it has kept away, thank the gods. How do you feel?”

“Bloody awful. But I don’t hurt anymore and my thoughts are willing to connect to each other, so I think I’ll be alright”

“Good, that’s good.” Martin removed his hand from her forehead, but before he took it away entirely he trailed his fingers loosely through her hair. Emelira cringed to think how he could feel the state it was in, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You had me for a little while there, you know. I wasn’t sure you’d make it”

“You won’t get rid of me that easy, little emperor” Emelira said. Martin sat next to her on the bed, eyes scanning her face, seeking out any final traces of illness.

“No, it seems not. You’ve got a hell of a lot of fight in you”

“Well, I don’t think it was all down to me. You should give yourself at least some of the credit”

Martin waved his hand, refusing the attempt at acknowledging what he’d done. But Emelira needed to be heard.

“Thank you, for caring for me. I…” she lost her words, something she hadn’t done since before she was Sheogorath.

“You don’t need to thank me”

“You don’t understand, Martin!” she seemed agitated, desperate to communicate something she couldn’t find the words for. Martin reached out and placed his hand over hers, it calmed her a little.

“Then explain it to me”

Emelira took a breath. “No one has ever cared for me, not really. Not without a selfish motive. I am alone in this existence, and for the first time in gods know how long there was someone at my side. I feel…” she jiggled her leg up and down, an unconscious attempt to use up some of her nervous energy. “You remind me what it might mean to be safe enough to be weak. You make me want to let go and be human again”

Martin couldn’t pretend to fully understand all that Emelira was saying, but the way she met his gaze and kept it was enough. There was no hint of confusion in her eyes, no suggestion that her fever hadn’t really lifted. She looked afraid, and desperate, but she meant everything she said. His hand continued to hold hers, but he gently intertwined their fingers so that it became more intimate than mere comfort. His voice, when at last he spoke, was quiet. “What do you need from me?”

“From you? Nothing. But for you… everything”

Ah, so that was it, Martin thought. This wasn’t really about someone caring for Emelira at all. No, it seemed the thing that had so shattered his champion was the realisation that she cared for someone, for him. She had something to lose.

Their hands unclasped, but only so that Martin could wind his arm around his friend’s shoulders and gently guide her to lean against him.

“I almost wish I could go back” she said in a voice which was almost a whisper.

“Back where, my dear?”

The term of endearment tore at her heart, placing another crack in her fortifications. Feelings she didn’t know how to handle poured through. “To how I was before. It was easier, there was no one to worry about, nothing to fear”

Gentle lips pressed against the top of her head, tender and loving, and Emelira felt every ounce of her resistance crumble. There was silence, the god clinging to the only person in the world she loved, and the emperor holding her like he would never let go.

There was no coming back from this.

“Don’t destroy yourself to protect me” Martin whispered into her hair. She pulled away, gaze steady and strong as it landed on him.

“I would destroy reality itself to protect you”

“I don’t doubt it, but I’d rather you walked out the other side once you’re done”

The smile he received in reply was teasing, her eyes sparkled. “There you go, caring for me again”

“Well,” Martin said, tone light, “my looking after you isn’t entirely selfless”

“Oh?” Emelira looked up, expecting him to say something about her duty to save the world, but he just smiled.

“You’re the only person around here with any decent conversation”

Emelira giggled. It turned into a laugh, and then she was howling, clutching her sides. It wasn’t that funny, but she laughed more for the release than anything else.

Martin didn’t know it, although he guessed some, but he was finally seeing the real her. And he liked it.


	6. Heart

So fragile, so easily broken, so easily shattered. This immortal heart.

And Emelira’s heart felt as though it were being dragged back to life after centuries locked away. She cared for Martin. No, she loved Martin. And perhaps, if she let herself hope just a little, perhaps he loved her back.

Smiles and promises and evenings by the fire. Enough. This was enough. Just to be there with him.

She fought to save the world for him, and he returned the gesture by giving her a reason to keep going. There was hope on the horizon, a suggestion that maybe they might actually succeed here. What came after no one knew, but the point was that there might actually _be_ an after.

But in the end, as the world caught fire around them, Emelira forgot everything she had ever learned. All she could see was Martin and endless danger. The short journey from the palace to the Temple of the One loomed as though it were miles upon miles. And she knew, deep in her daedric soul, that when she got him there he wouldn’t be leaving.

Oh how she wished she weren’t a god, how she’d love to be able to take him there and not know he was doomed.

“I can get you out of the city.” The words tumbled out as they stood in the palace doorway.

“We need to get to the temple!” Martin cried.

“No, Martin, you’re not listening. I can get us out, we could run away. I know somewhere safe.”

Despite the battle still raging around them, Martin gently took her hands as though no one was there. “If we don’t get to that temple the world will be overrun with daedra.”

“Oh, my place is full of daedra too, but of a different kind.”

“And what about all of these people, Emelira? What about them? We could run and hide and all of these people would die.”

“I’m… I’m scared”

“So am I. We’d be fools if we weren’t.”

Emelira squeezed the hands that held hers. “We do this and nothing will ever be the same again.”

“I know. But this isn’t about survival anymore, my dear. Not for us. Now is the time to do the right thing. You’ve made it this far; you’ve fought so hard. This is the last thing I will ask of you.”

The last thing…

Emelira looked up to the sky, glowing red amidst the disaster around them.

One last thing…

“I’ll get you to the temple”

“We’re too late! Mehrunes Dagon is here!” Martin cried as they emerged into the temple district and saw the colossal form towering above them. Emelira clutched at her sword, tensing for a fight that would surely kill them all. But Martin grasped her hand, lowering her arm.

“Emelira, listen. Lighting the dragon fires will no longer save us, the barriers that protected us from Oblivion are gone.”

“Can’t we cast him back into oblivion?”

He shook his head and Emelira bit her tongue to fight back tears. “I don’t see how. Mortal weapons may hurt him, but now that he is physically here in Tamriel they have no power to actually destroy him.”

Emelira glanced around, desperately searching for an answer. She found it around his neck. “What about the Amulet of Kings?”

There it was, a spark of hope in Martin’s face. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“Wait, yes! The amulet was given to mortals by Akatosh, it contains his divine power” he clutched at her hand tightly, mind working in a frenzy of desperation. Emelira kept glancing around, ready to protect him even with the distractions. Martin’s brow creased. “But.. how to use this power against Dagon? The amulet was not intended as a weapon…”

She shot a fireball at an approaching scamp as Martin’s fingers intwined with her other hand. “Emelira, I have an idea. One last hope. I must reach the dragon fires in the temple of the One.”

She broke loose from his hand only so that she could swing her sword. “But you said it was no use!”

“You’ll just have to trust me. I… I now know what I was born to do. But I’ll need your help, I have to get past Mehrunes Dagon somehow.” His voice was thick, as though he spoke through unshed tears. Emelira felt a pit of terror in her stomach. There was something he wasn’t telling her. But he needed her, and she had made a promise to help him. She closed her eyes and bit her tongue.

One last thing…

She opened her eyes.

“I’ll get you to the temple.”

“Then I’ll do the rest. Lead on”

Getting to the temple wasn’t difficult. Emelira was well experienced with cutting a path through daedra, and Martin was right on her heels. The hard part was when she opened the door to the temple and saw the empty space in front of them. And she knew.

There really was no going back.

Martin strode in, full of purpose and terrible calm. Standing at the edge of the room, Emelira couldn’t ignore the architectural parallels with an arena, stage set for a death match. Martin turned to her, silent long enough for her to mouth ‘no’, for her own voice had failed her. He smiled. There was no fear in his eyes, only certainty.

“I do what I must do. I cannot stay here to rebuild Tamriel, that task falls to others. Farewell, you’ve been a good friend in the short time I have known you. But now I must go. The Dragon waits.”

As the roof of the temple fell in, and Lord Dagon entered, the Amulet of Kings shattered, and Martin Septim was gone.

The scream that rent through the city left the newly scarred ground shaking. The world seemed to stop to hear it, to fear it. For what could make such a terrible sound? It was inhuman, more like the dying roar of a beast than anything else. But layered, seeming to echo within itself. A voice from another realm. But, deep down, beneath everything else, was the voice of a woman screaming out in agony.

Those standing in dazed awe outside the Temple of the One, wondering where their enemy had gone and what had called the Avatar of Akatosh to the sky, felt fresh terror as they heard it. What creature could have caused such a sound? What fresh hell lay beyond the door?

Once the echoes had died away, and the air was still again, they turned towards the door to the temple. Chancellor Ocato was the first who dared push it open.

He wasn’t surprised at what lay before him. For there was no beast, no hellscape they needed to face. Only her. Sat alone among the wreckage, clutching shattered fragments of the Amulet of Kings to her chest. She did not weep, merely stared before her.

A breath fought its way from her chest, a choked and broken sob without noise.

The world froze for the briefest of moments, waiting to see what she would do.

For this was no mere mortal, no hero grieving for their emperor. This was a god, powerful and dangerous. Now left without their only purpose, their only reason to live. She took a breath in, filling her lungs greedily. One hand left the fragments clutched to her chest, running fingers through the dirt around her. Feeling the world she had given everything to save.

There was a long moment of silence, and Ocato burned with questions, but he dared not ask. Not yet. This was a pivotal moment. She teetered on a knife’s edge, and he feared pushing her either way. Would she be angry? Would she turn hatred towards the realm which had robbed her of Martin Septim? Or would she merely turn inward, wandering the land, shrouded in her own grief?

Only time would tell. But she would never be the same, that was for sure. She would come out of this time with bars on her heart and cracks in her soul.

And when a god cracks, reality trembles.


	7. God

So fragile. Not easily shattered, not easy to break. But shattered and broken all the same. This god.

And broken gods are the most dangerous.

Silent, stoic. Questions had been answered but more had been raised, and Emelira had quietly bowed out. She had been honoured, but not with a ceremony. Everyone agreed it would do her no good to be lorded up to the people. Let Martin be their hero and let Emelira grieve.

It rained for a week solid, and those few who knew her best began to wonder if Emelira had caused it. Wherever she was. The woman had claimed her reward and slipped away, disappearing into the wilderness to process in peace. Perhaps her grief was so heavy that the world cried the tears she dared not.

On the day the rain stopped, she arrived back at Cloud Ruler Temple. No one was surprised that she had. Where better to hide than there?

She took up a vigil over the whole world, or what felt like it. Standing on the walls and watching time slip by before her. The sight was difficult for them all, but especially for Baurus. He had taken the loss of two emperors to his heart, and watching the woman who had saved everyone begin to waste away was too much. On her third day he went to join her.

She said nothing, but when he placed a hand on her shoulder in comfort, she moved her own up to squeeze it in reply.

“I’m…” Baurus began but quickly stopped. He felt like he should say something, anything really. But what could he say when his friend was so beyond saving? “I want to say I’m sorry, but that doesn’t do it.”

“No, no it doesn’t. Because it’s not your fault.”

“No. But I wish I could do something.”

Emelira didn’t look at him, continuing to stare out at the world stretched below them.

“All of this was his,” she said, gesturing to the world beyond. “I don’t belong here, I can’t stay. Not in his realm.”

“It’s not his. Martin is with the gods, at the right hand of Akatosh. This realm is for us now.”

For some reason Baurus didn’t understand, that was what got her to look his way. “What did you just say?”

Baurus looked confused, but he had her attention, which was something. “Just… Just that Martin is with Akatosh now.”

Emelira grabbed Baurus’ wrist.

“Or is he?”

“What?”

There was a spark in her eyes. Hope. In such a hopeless situation, Baurus was afraid where it had come from.

“The gods are petty, very petty. Especially the daedric ones. And Martin dabbled in daedric worship before he ever thought of becoming a priest of Akatosh. So…”

Baurus could see how hard Emelira was trying to think, to understand. He didn’t know it, but she wasn’t Emelira anymore, not really. Sheogorath had raised their ugly head, clouding ordered thoughts with madness, forcing the mind of a daedric prince back in. Because how could a mortal woman understand what she was trying to?

Baurus did his best to help, to prompt her train of thought as best he could. “So, are you saying he’s not with Akatosh?”

Emelira’s eyes cleared, understanding dawning.

“The daedra hate the divines, they’re so stuck up and all high and mighty. They’re no fun at all. We’ll take any opportunity to steal a soul from them. And Martin… Oh boy, what a soul. Not just a worshiper but a priest, the emperor, the avatar of Akatosh himself! Anyone with half a claim would steal him before Akatosh had even written his welcome speech.”

The way she spoke about the daedric princes finally showed Baurus exactly who he was speaking to. He’d had suspicions, they all had. Emelira was certainly no mortal hero. He knew now that they must surely be a god, a daedra. One foolish enough to fall in love with the mortal emperor.

And she had a plan.

“Do you know who he worshipped?”

“He was a young man seeking to rebel. Who do all such men worship?”

Baurus looked nonplussed.

“Oh come on, Baurus. Think! What did you want when you were younger? Debauchery and revelry, does that ring a bell?”

Finally, the light of understanding was in his eyes. “Sanguine”

Sheogorath grinned. “Sanguine”

“Sheogorath!”

“Sanguine”

“I had no idea you were back!”

Sheogorath’s face was impassive. “Evidently”

Sanguine lounged in a throne of cushioned velvet and elaborately carved wood, a perpetually filled glass of wine in his hand and one leg hooked over the arm. At a smaller chair by his side, swirling but not seeming to drink a glass of amber liquid, sat Martin Septim. He was bedecked in opulent robes but he did not look comfortable in them.

He had not looked up at Sheogorath’s arrival, had merely continued to stare into his drink. But he did now. The god of madness looked nothing like he had imagined, and entirely like the woman he thought he’d never see again. Their eyes glanced down to him, staring for a cold moment and using every ounce of connection they had built over the past weeks to tell him, beg him to keep quiet and reveal nothing.

Sanguine didn’t notice, as the action had been perfectly timed to take place as he swigged his drink. “Freshly returned from your game in the mortal realm and I’m the first place you visit. I’m flattered”

“Be flattered all you like; this is not a social call.”

Sanguine straightened in his chair, still relaxed but no longer languid. “Business then”

Sheogorath took up a gentle pacing, walking back and forth before the Daedric Prince of Revelry and Debauchery. They could have buttered him up, have flattered his ego and made him melt in their hands, but in the end he was their equal in skill and ability, and this was his realm. No, there was no point in playing games, games can be lost. And Sheogorath had no intention of losing what they were here for.

“I want something from you. Your recently acquired soul.”

Sanguine’s eyes widened a little, and a grin stretched his face. “My little emperor? What could you possibly want with him?”

“I have reason to believe he would be an excellent fit for my realm, and a particularly poor one for yours.”

“He was once my worshipper, I’m sure he’ll do just fine here.”

“Once, but he has changed. He has grown dull.”

“I disagree.”

Finally, Sheogorath allowed a thin smile to stretch their lips. “Oh, come now, Sanguine, don’t play coy. We both know you only claimed him to spite Akatosh, any of us would have done the same. He is a wonderful prize to be sure, so completely ready to be Akatosh’s. But you’ve had your fun, and he doesn’t belong here. Look at him, he can’t even enjoy a drink. He’s hardly the poster boy for revelry.”

“He used to enjoy the lifestyle just fine.”

“Yes, and then he discovered Akatosh.”

“You do know that I’m the great tempter, don’t you?”

“Of the living. He is dead, and no use to you.”

Sanguine bit his lip, eyeing Sheogorath up and down. “But is he of use to you?”

Poor Martin looked as though his head might explode as the two gods talked. Too many revelations that he couldn’t begin to comprehend. “Do I get a say in any of this?” he asked, finally able to form a coherent thought.

“Hush now, the adults are talking” Sanguine said, before turning back to Sheogorath. The two stared each other down.

“I won’t play games, Sanguine. You already know that I want the man, you may as well know why. I met him when he was living, and I have developed some affection for him.”

Sanguine barked out laughter, slapping his thigh. “Oh this is just too precious! The god of madness desires Akatosh’s prize. I don’t know if I should be touched or disgusted.”

“I would prefer it if you were neither, sentiments have no place here.”

Sanguine’s eyes were locked onto Sheogorath’s, each god gauging the other, waiting to see who would give ground.

The skies had begun to turn pink, as though the sun were setting despite its location high overhead, a response to Sanguine’s heightened emotional state. He was enjoying this. Ever since Emelira had taken up the mantle, Sheogorath had remained rather solitary among fellow daedric princes. They had been keeping to themselves in the Shivering Isles, declining most social invites and refusing to take part in the usual conventions of the gods. This was the first time they had ventured to make a deal with someone, and Sanguine knew it.

“I assume then,” he began, eyes still locked on Sheogorath’s, “if you have come here to make such a request, you have something to bargain with.”

But Sheogorath had come prepared. “Of course.”

Sanguine gestured with his hand. “Out with it, then”

“A cult”

“I have cults. Many, in fact, and likely far more fun than yours”

“A joint cult. To the both of us”

Sanguine’s eyes opened a little wider, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Sheogorath knew they had him.

“You have always declined mu suggestions of such a venture, as did your predecessor.”

“I have no predecessor. I may have a different face, but I have all of the recollections of Sheogorath throughout time.”

“My apologies. What do you propose, then?”

Sheogorath took up their causal pacing again, hands clasped behind their back. “A cult that worships both of us. I will appear to some of my followers and convince them that they must follow you, they must live by your doctrine.”

“And these followers, I assume they shall be completely mad?”

“Naturally. Not a scrap of sanity between them.”

“And the fun kind of mad? None of your miserable ones!”

“They will be true children of Mania. Effervescent and unhinged. Depraved. Imagine it, the sort of deeds such people would be willing to carry out. Revelry like no other, debauchery the likes of which hasn’t been seen in an age. None of the foibles of sanity.”

Sanguine’s jaw fell open a little as he pictured it, but he quickly brought himself back to the present. “Alright, I’ll admit that I’m interested. But how do I know this cult will last? Or spread? Such individuals will not be easy to come by, and conversion by worshipers will be difficult once rumours get around.”

“How else? We appear to them. Sometimes together, sometimes apart. We talk to them, we dance with them, we encourage them. A spectacle worthy of gods!”

He was nodding now. “Yes, alright, that could work. It would need to be recurring, though. Not too often, they must build up to it, there must be time enough for it to be prophesised. But often enough.”

“Every two hundred and fifty years”

Sanguine clicked his tongue. “Come now, Sheo, at least try to play fair. Every fifty”

“Every two hundred”

“Seventy-five”

“One hundred”

The gods glared at each other for a very long moment. Martin glanced between them, praying. But for what, he didn’t know.

Sanguine leant backwards, swinging his leg back over the arm of his throne. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal. A joint cult with visitations every century, in return for the dead emperor. Though what you’ll do with him I have no idea, he hasn’t been an ounce of fun since he arrived. Off you go, Martin.” He waved Martin towards Sheogorath, and the man obliged, steps unsure as he stood and walked to Emelira’s side. She hadn’t let her Sheogorath act slip yet, face expressionless.

“Thank you, Sanguine. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Sanguine had gone back to his drink, interest lost. He waved Sheogorath away. The god of madness took Martin’s hand tight and willed them both back to the Shivering Isles. The two appeared in the palace, securely back in New Sheoth and Sheogorath let out a heavy sigh. They looked at Martin, who had still said nothing but was gazing at them in deep, deep confusion. But he was there, in their palace, safe and secure and away from Sanguine’s clutches. Sheogorath could feel it, could feel the presence of a new soul in the fabric of their realm. It had worked. And that knowledge was what knocked the façade of Sheogorath away.

Emelira let out a sob, pulling Martin into her arms and holding him tight. Tears soaked his clothes where she hid her face in his shoulder. Despite all of the questions which Martin was so desperate to have answers to, he held his tongue. He held her close, stroking her hair.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you. You did it. I’m right here.”

Outside, the heavy clouds which had hung since Martin’s death finally burst. The world was crying with its god. But through a crack in the clouds, the sun shone bright and clear.


End file.
